’ Footsteps sounded just outside, and Captain Roding walked in. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand.
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